Monday, February 23, 2009

I am driving on the 405 freeway with Morticia. Traffic is moving pretty well and we're listening to some sweet tunes on my new satellite radio system.Morticia scrolls through the XM stations, checking them out, one by one. All at once the car is filled with the dulcet and soulful tones of the pan flute.

Its ethereal melody whisks away the urban sprawl around me and by the time the wind chimes begin their enchanting tinkle in the background, I am an eagle soaring above the breathtaking rock chimneys and sand pipes of our great Southwest, thrilling to the rush of dry air under my majestic wings and wondering when Georgette (that was her name, right?) is coming back to start my 60-minute Swedish massage.

I am also asleep.

[Note: this is not cause for panic, for two reasons. 1. As a mom, I am a champion multitasker. 2. I come from a long line of sleep-drivers, chiefly my father, who once napped peacefully while piloting our Delta '88 the entire length of the Great Smoky Mountains Parkway in a hailstorm.]

Morticia tells me when I awake that the XM channel is called "Spa." Really? Massage music? A whole channel of it? What's up with that? I picture the DJ in a terry cloth robe with little cucumber slices on his eyes. Do people call in requests and, if so, what are the song titles?

"Uh, yeah, dude, can you play 'My Heart is a Hot Stone Without You' by The Exfoliators?"

And who are these bands? Do they know they're making massage music? Do they get together in their garages on the weekends with a cooler full of longnecks, slapping high-fives, griping about their old ladies and talking about how they are going to raise the effing roof - yeah! Does the pan flute player walk in wearing a studded leather jacket and holding a little black case lined in red felt and covered with AC/DC stickers? Or is it just the opposite - his pan flute hangs jauntily from his shoulder by a strand of raffia, nestled against his organic cotton messenger bag?I need to know how this works.

What about record contracts? Does some fat cat music executive suddenly jump up from the massage table in the middle of his weekly Lomi-Lomi, spit out his cigar and yell, "By God, that's the sound I've been looking for! Get those kids on the phone, now!"And think about this: do they play gigs? If so, where? I picture a guy with a pan flute and another holding a wind chime, standing on the sidewalk outside The Whiskey up on SunsetBoulevard with all the Lycra-wearing hair-band guys. Hmmm. Or maybe they're more of a coffee-bar act, playing where the audience has at least a fighting chance of staying awake if they mainline enough espresso. Senior centers seem like a non-starter - that's just asking for trouble.More importantly, do they have [gulp] groupies? What would that situation even look like? The pan flute guy stands at the edge of the stage, one foot perched on the monitor as he rips off a scorching solo while scanning the crowd and motioning with his eyebrows to his security guard: That one there in the second row...the one in the embellished t-shirt with the crystal glasses chain...bring her to my dressing room after the show?

What does the crowd fling onto the stage when they get worked up, sprouted bread? Dream catchers? Birkenstocks? At the climax of it all, does the lead guy smash his pan flute over an amp? Or set it on fire like Jimi Hendrix? Do they trash their hotel rooms like The Who? Or play Mancala with the roadies instead?

It's about this time that the frantic burbling of an accordion explodes inside the car and Morticia announces that she's found the all-polka channel.

What does the crowd fling onto the stage when they get worked up, sprouted bread? Dream catchers? Birkenstocks?

This might be the best of a very fine series of questions you ask here. The only other thing I wonder: WHO thought massage music designed to relax you nigh unto sleep was a good idea for satellite radio to be listened to while driving??? Most people do not have your multi-tasking capabilities...

What is next on the xm sound frontier? Honestly, I think I should apply for my own channel. I could have a live streaming channel of my kids 24/7 and call it "the total birthcontrol channel" no joke it would scare people until they are totally ready. And I totally say thats worth whatever they are paying howard stern, so I say, where is my big ass check?!

i did some work as a Concert Emcee (I also booked, and could imagine the gripe and grime I'd get for this).

What an introduction that would be: "This next act will scrub your face off! Let's give it up forrr..." *checks sheet to make sure I'm saying it right* "the.. Exfoliaters? uh, Give 'm a rip-roarin loofa and show 'm sum love. . ."

I am totally against massage music. Really. New age music can make me much more tense. I have a knee jerk reaction that says, "You can't make me relax." Put on some Phillip Glass and under that tense tension of scratching Post-modern music I might start to relax.

I have also wondered about the yoga music. Where does it come from? Are there bands out there who play tapes of Yoga classes and then orchestrate their music to match the poses? "Yeah, I call this piece down-ward facing dog into lion."

Anna Anna Anna....do you laugh when you write this stuff? I can just picture you sitting at your computer...hooting when a seriously funny line explodes in your brain. I can't imagine you not cracking up as this stuff hits the page. You are something else!

Oh. My. God. I laughed so hard I couldn't read it out loud to my husband, who was also cracking up. Tears rolled down my face, and I may or may not have peed my pants (not telling). Pure genius. You are a goddess of comedy.

I've seen these "masters of the pan flute" more times that I care to mention. They can typically be found at large mall locations or at the local street fairs. It's odd to be walking down an oil-stained street, chowing down on Churros purchased from a scurvy-looking immigrant sweating in a graffiti covered third wheel, mindlessly rounding a corner and bump into a small band of Zamfir pan flute blowing Musakicians (hey, I just made up a word there!).

As for "fat cat" record producers, I'd have to say "No". These guys are always hawking their home-burnt CDs out of a conveniently placed basket lined with an ethnic looking blanket from whatever country they lay claim to this month.

I am impressed with Morticia. I can't listen to pan-flutes for more than a fleeting second or two before the Teenagers leaps across the center console of the car to jab at the buttons in order to fill the car with sounds of metal things smashing into each other. I'm probably gonna miss that.

My sister and I play at coffee shops sometimes. We've never had a name... until now. The Exfoliators are coming to town! And I just saw that I'm on your blog roll! For real, that's awesome. Channeling Sally Field: you like me! You really like me! Seriously, does she look any different now than she did 20 years ago? I'm gonna say no.

Pan flute? Polka? That's as bad as the Book channel on Sirius. You never know what book will be on nor when it will start and it's always some weird story about Unicorns or eunuchs, which I always mix up anyway so it wouldn't matter.

Wouldn't the job of production director be a grand one for those channels??

I'm pretty sure the pan-flute crowd frowns upon "flinging" things at one another, as that might unbalance one's delicate sense of well-being. But if they had to toss something, they would probably throw "auras of love" or some such free-spirited nonsense.

There's a group from Equador or somewhere down south that plays at the Tulsa State Fair every year... you can see them and listen to them as you eat your bloomin' onion, fried snickers and/or funnel cake with extra powdered sugar on it as they play where a lot of the food booths are located. They encourage purchases of their CD's and they do have followers, or rather sitters and eaters that try to time their piggin' out when the group is due for another set. And, yes, they play the pan flute, the regular flute, even the kazoo if they think they can pry a nickel out of their faithful followers.

Wow, you mean I'm missing out on Spa music? Maybe I do need to get me some XM radio. Is this for real? Only you can take something so boring like spa music and make it a hillariously entertaining post!

Get your ass over to my house and let's have a drink b/c you crack me up. Using jauntily and pan flute in the same sentence about did me in with chuckling. The genre of massage music has been overlooked way too long. Thank you for putting it out there.

I thought I was weird. I once had a dream about a bunchy of priests walking around the abbey as they chanted in Gregorian, the sounds of their voices echoing off the hallowed cathedral halls. And then one by one, they each came by me at the holy water station and asked me to lift my skirt. Well, they were chanting: how could I say no?

Anna Anna Anna....do you laugh when you write this stuff? I can just picture you sitting at your computer...hooting when a seriously funny line explodes in your brain. I can't imagine you not cracking up as this stuff hits the page. You are something else!

I heart you - for making my day :) I went off after reading this imagining a Pan Flute Odyssey (if you've seen This Is Spinal Tap, you'll be with me), free-forming polka bands and hmmm some nasty nasty macramé wall hangings.

Order The CHICKtionary HERE...and make a unicorn smile

Also known as my Lady Lair...

Recently Published @

Your Hostess

Anna Lefler is an award-winning writer and humorist and the author of THE CHICKTIONARY: FROM A-LINE TO Z-SNAP, THE WORDS EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW (Adams Media, November 2011). Her work has appeared online at Salon.com, McSweeney's, TheBigJewel, MyPheme, FunnyNotSlutty and HumorPress. Anna's essays on modern motherhood have been nationally syndicated and her fiction has been presented onstage by WordTheatre Los Angeles. She has performed standup comedy in Los Angeles clubs including the Hollywood Improv, the Comedy Store, Room 5 Lounge and M Bar. Anna can also be found at www.annalefler.com, where she is trying to stop referring to herself in third person.